Much Ado About Pants

Why is it when things go wrong they continue to go wrong like a chain of events one triggering the other?

I was at a posh hotel preparing to give an important speech to a group of managers about our budget plans and future forecasts.

It was a two-days Conference and mine was the keynote speech before everyone packed their bags and went back to their homes.

I was in my hotel room packing my suitcase and getting dressed in my best suit ready to face my audience. As I put my trousers on, for some reason, the zipper at the front got stuck. It would not go up, or down. I forced it down and it broke. There was no way I could zip my trouser front shut.

What a disaster. I could hardly stand on stage and give a talk with my trouser zip wide open. This is the only suit I've got. I can hardly stand there wearing a jacket and tie and jeans.

What can I do?

How can I fix the zip shut in such a short time to go before I’m supposed to stand on stage facing all these people?

Needle and thread … that’s what I need. What’s the use? Men are no good with needles and thread … I wouldn’t know what to do if I had any anyway. And I don't carry needles and thread anyway.

What else can I use to keep the zip shut and cover what should be covered?

Pins … must find some pins … no … there aren’t any in this hotel either.

How about paper clips? I have some in my briefcase … no … they don’t hold so well. They would probably pop and fly away at the most inopportune time. They would draw attention to my dilemma. (Never heard it called that before!)

Aha ... I have some bulldog clips in my briefcase. You know, those large metal clips for holding papers together. Still wearing the trousers I stand in front of the mirror and try them.

Easy does it ... careful what you catch with those mighty clip jaws. There ... all done.

I stand in front of the mirror and watch three brightly coloured bulldog clips hanging from the front of my trousers. Yes ... no one will notice ... do you think?

I get rid of the bulldog clips and think of something else.

What if I use the sticky-tape to tape the zip in place? It doesn’t hold very well. It falls down again. There must be something else in my briefcase I can use.

Aha again … necessity is the mother of invention … my stapler!!!

I can staple the zip shut whilst still wearing the trousers.

I lean forward to check what I am about to do. Delicate operation this. I do not want to perform a vasectomy at the same time as fixing my zipper.

Click … click … click … click … a few staples later and the zip is stapled shut and ... thankfully ... I feel no pain. I am proud of my ingenuity.

I go to the basin to wash my hands.

Why is it that hotel basins are so designed that when you open the faucet the water rushes into the basin, swivels round at speed, and splashes all over the front of your trousers with embarrassing results?

And why does it happen when you’re in a hurry?

I can hardly stand in front of all these people giving the impression that I have been caught short? I have no other suit to change into.

I try desperately to dry the trousers with a towel but the large stain on my front is still clearly visible.

Even if I button up my jacket the wet stain is still there for all to notice.

Aha … I remember seeing a hair-dryer in one of the drawers.

Plug it in … stand in front of the mirror and blow hot air on the stain. Hopefully it will dry quickly and in time for me to get down and give my speech.

Wow … this hair-dryer is hot!!!

And noisy too!!!

So noisy that I did not hear the hotel maid knocking at the door and entering the room.

She is standing there behind me watching as I get forever hotter. One can only imagine what she’s thinking.

“Eh … my trousers …” I mumble, “they’re wet … I’m trying to dry them … I got them wet with water … from the basin …” I try to explain incoherently as my mind becomes more and more confused with the situation.

“I understand Sir,” she replies with a smile, “have you tried the trouser-press? If you fold the trousers in here the heat will soon dry the … water.”

I did not like the pause before she said “water”. She’s got the situation all wrong.

She pulls out the trouser-press from its compartment and switches it on. “It is ready now Sir!” she says with a smile.

“Eh … I think it is better if you now leave,” I mumble again, “I’ll take it from here!”

“Of course Sir!” she smiles broadly as she leaves the room, "call me if you need any help with the trousers!"

I try to take the trousers off in a hurry … drat … why is this stupid trouser stuck?

I pull at the zipper … drat and double drat … the front of the trousers have been stapled to my underpants … how did that happen? How did I staple the trousers to the underpants whilst I’m still wearing it? Would you believe it? Now of all times I have a pair of trousers stuck to my underwear with only moments to go before I am due to make my speech.

Too late to untangle it! Take off the the trousers as well as my underpants and put the whole lot in the press. Close the press. Turn on the heat to maximum so the stain dries quicker.

I'm standing there wearing my shirt and tie and jacket and naked from the waist down when the door opens. It is my secretary checking why I am late.

"Can't you knock?" I shout.

"I did Sir," she says her eyes wandering where they shouldn't, "you did not answer and I thought you were perhaps unwell!"

"I'm OK ..." I mumble, "please wait ... outside!"

As she leaves I open the trouser press and put the trousers back on in a hurry … GEEEEEEE … that is HOT !!!!!

I hop from foot to foot wandering whether I have done myself a mischief.

Later that afternoon, whilst I was checking out at the hotel reception with my boss, the chambermaid passes by and asks me, “Did your trousers dry OK Sir?”

My boss looks at me with raised eyebrows and says nothing. I wonder what she's thinking. I hope she doesn't discuss her suspicions with my secretary. I know the two ladies often have lunch together.

But the chain of disasters does not end there.

As I get to my car and pull out my car key from my pocket I find that the plastic top where the automatic car-opening system is, has been totally melted by the hot trouser-press.

Luckily, I had a spare car key which I always carry in my briefcase.